


Wait, What?

by Tinstars



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bickering, Dubious Consent, First Time, Humor, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-06
Updated: 2011-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinstars/pseuds/Tinstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on the sex pollen trope.</p><p>[written for the kink meme]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait, What?

In a moment of carelessness, America’s thigh slammed against the table. He cursed, rubbing at the spot gingerly. The sudden, abrasive sound of England shutting the hotel door intensified the throbbing pain. 

“I can’t believe we had to come all the way to your hotel for a bloody piece of paper,” England muttered, sitting down in one of the small upholstered chairs. “You’d better pay attention next time, because this is completely ridiculous.”

America sat down on the bed and leaned back. “You didn’t have to come. I kept telling you that. You don’t even know where I keep my files and stuff.” He rubbed his thigh again and let out a hiss of pain. 

England crossed his arms and sniffed haughtily. “I had to come along to make sure everything is in order. I’m not the one who forgot to bring the document around which this _entire meeting_ is based.”

Unbeknownst to either man, a small tube hidden beneath the bed had begun to emit an odorless substance that would soon spread throughout the room. 

America rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the bed. “Yeah, cause I’m the only one who ever forgets things.” He went to retrieve a file folder from the closet. “You’re, like, the king of losing shit.” The folder was thrown onto the bed. He plopped down next to it and started sifting through its contents. 

England scoffed. “There’s a difference between _losing_ something that you intended to bring, and forgetting about it altogether.” As the words left his lips, he began to tug at his collar in discomfort. His skin felt incredibly hot.

“Uh, not really. You either bring the thing or you don’t. No one cares why.” America finally extracted the necessary document from the folder with a sigh of relief, and went over to the table, using his free hand to unbutton his jacket. He was suddenly filled with the need to remove clothes. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he knew that he was definitely wearing too many clothes. “’Course, I don’t have the excuse of being a senile old man.” One half of the jacket was already off by the time the document was safely stowed in his briefcase. 

England stood abruptly and removed his tweed coat. He draped it over the arm of the chair. “Careful who you call senile, lad. You’re starting to get up in years yourself.”

America turned from the table and found himself pressed flush against England’s body. He took the next logical step, and casually started to unbutton England’s suit. 

“Before you know it, you won’t be able to attribute your mistakes to being a brainless teenager anymore,” England added, sliding an eager hand along America’s hip. 

“At least I admit when I forget stuff,” America replied, tossing England’s tie onto the floor before moving past his collar to get at the sensitive skin underneath. “Instead of blaming everything on my invisible friends.” And just like that, his tongue was gliding over a fluttering pulse. 

There was no transition from colleague to lover. No acknowledgement that anything out of the ordinary was happening, though they had never touched each other like this before. There was only a consuming, desperate ache that struck them to the core.

They kept arguing as if they had no rational awareness of what their bodies were doing. No connection between their words and their actions.

England groaned, trying to remove America’s belt and stretching his neck to allow more contact. “They are _not_ invisible, you wanker. They are perfectly visible to educated individuals who have the strength of mind to see what others cannot.”

“Mm,” America hummed against his neck, prompting a small gasp. “In other words, they’re invisible.”

England narrowed his eyes and pulled America’s belt away, letting it drop to the floor. “They’re mischievous creatures, and just because you’re too thick to see them doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” He unzipped America’s pants and slid his hand inside to rub the growing bulge. America bit gently against his neck and rocked into his hand. 

“You know,” America said hoarsely, warming England’s skin, “when you say I’m stupid, it just makes you look insecure. Which you totally are.” He groaned, grinding against England’s palm.

“At least I’m not an arrogant buffoon,” England said sharply. “Stepping on everyone else because of a misplaced sense of entitlement.” 

America laughed and pulled England into a kiss, sucking at his lower lip with a frenzied hunger. 

“Maybe not anymore,” America whispered. He guided England and pushed him onto the bed. England hit the bedspread softly, and America was soon crawling over him like a predator, intent on straddling him. He pulled America into his lap and let out a shuddering breath. America responded by grabbing his wrists and pinning them against the bed. “I may be too ‘thick’ to see your lame imaginary friends…” He kissed England again more forcefully. “…but even I know that you don’t build an empire by playing _nice_.” 

“We’re not talking about my past,” England grumbled, straining against his strength. “We’re talking about your complete lack of responsible behavior.”

America released his wrists and started to remove his undershirt. With his hands free, England was able to hold America’s hips and grind against his pelvis. 

America bit his lip and whimpered, but kept working on the buttons until he could cast the shirt off the bed. “So you’re – ngh - making it your business to complain about everything I do, like always.” He quickly tore at the buttons on his own clothing, fingers pawing desperately at the fabric.

Sighing at the soft caress of bare skin, America slid forward to England’s chest. He gave a sharp thrust and turned his attention to one of England’s pert nipples.

England sucked in a gasp and arched his back, pushing his chest up further. “I only – ah! - only complain when your actions affect international affairs.” He squirmed and clutched the pillow behind his head as America’s tongue swirled over his sensitive flesh. “Or w-when you do something incredibly _stupid_ , like leave essential documents in your closet.”

America reveled in his cries of pleasure and gave one more languid lick. “You wanna talk about stupid?” he said, taking advantage of England’s dazed condition to tug on his pants. “How about the fact that you freak out when you get an inch of snow?”

England scoffed and looked away, but rolled his hips instinctively under America’s touch. Despite his shaky, overexcited movements, America was able to remove the pants quickly. They landed on the ground, atop of a growing pile of clothing. America laid his cheek against England’s stomach, holding his hips so tight, as if the need to feel his skin was the only thing tying him to the earth. 

“That’s incredibly off topic and completely unfair,” England murmured, looking down at America’s golden hair, already charmingly mussed, and shivered at the cold metal of his glasses. His voice was soft and did not suit the irritation behind his words. “You get much more snowfall than I do. You’re used to it.” 

“And you’re, like, a million years old,” America breathed against his stomach, and trailed his fingers slowly across England’s pelvis. He leaned on his side and pulled England’s underwear down enough to expose the head of his cock, and sucked on the tip. England’s moan cut through the pause and he gripped the fabric beneath his hands until his knuckles were white. America paused and chuckled. “You can deal with an ocean of rain pouring down on you, but a little bit of snow and you refuse to get out of bed.” He rubbed the length of England’s cock through the thin fabric barrier, spurred on by his needy little moans. “I guess I understand. Wouldn’t want you to slip on the ice and shatter your brittle bones.” 

America gave a few more strokes and slid up to capture his lips once again. England found himself increasingly frustrated with America’s pants, which were impeding his progress.

With no time to catch his breath, England pushed America to the other side of the bed, using his bulk to roll him onto his back. “My bones are just fine, thank you very much,” he said harshly against America’s ear. “The only reason I stayed in the house that week was because I had loads of work to do.” He used his position to thrust his hips forward. America rolled his head back against the pillow and moaned. “Some of us like to file our paperwork on time,” England hissed, finally reaching down to pull America’s pants out of the way.

America lifted his hips, his cock straining for release against red cotton briefs that England was all too eager to remove. 

And they were finally naked. England leaned in and rocked against America’s body. 

“I get stuff in on time!” America responded, biting his lip at the feeling of England’s erection rubbing against his own. He responded with equal fervor, and their bodies moving together felt like a natural fit. “Usually.” With a gasp, he hooked one leg around England’s. “Sometimes.” He whined when England pulled away. “But I don’t spend hours and hours making sure that I didn’t misspell anything or – ah!” England was rubbing a finger, slick with saliva, over his entrance. “O-or - god forbid, use ‘incorrect grammar.’” He clenched his teeth and pushed back urgently. Never in his life had he experienced such an overwhelming need to be fucked.

England teased him, drawing it out until he could no longer bear it. He spat into his hand as a quick-and-dirty solution, and spread it inside America. “These rules exist to make sure that imbeciles like _you_ -“ He slowed down to enjoy the feeling of America pushing down on his fingers and wriggling about. “-can understand what other people are trying to convey. Of course, I’m not surprised that you ignore them.” With a hint of reluctance, he removed his fingers. “I suppose you think you can make the rules yourself.”

America rolled forward, held onto England’s ass for leverage and started sucking his cock, coating it with his own saliva. “Damn fucking right I can,” he said gruffly, licking England from base to tip. England groaned and tried to stop his legs from shaking. It took all his willpower to finally pull himself away. America laid back against the bed and angled his hips. He lifted his arms and grabbed the back of the headboard, and England pushed into him. “I don’t need language advice from a guy who puts two I’s in aluminum,” he said with a grunt as he adjusted to the aching discomfort. 

When England’s cock was completely engulfed, he waited for a moment before pulling out most of the way, and slowly pushing in again, stretching America wide and setting off a euphoria in his nerves. “That’s the p-proper form!” England’s eyes rolled back in ecstasy, from the tightness and the heat surrounding his cock. “You used to say it that way too, you nitwit.” He thrust in again, this time sliding his entire body against America’s, trailing his nose against the plane of soft skin and kissing him slowly, intensely.

They pulled away and America was gasping for air, chin resting on England’s shoulder. “Whatever,” he wheezed, “it still looks wrong.”

England kissed his chest and started thrusting again, steadily increasing his speed. He could feel America moving frantically, desire stretched with a tension near to snapping, rolling his hips like the sea. “No, what’s ‘wrong’ is your grudge against the letter ‘u’.”

America moaned and wrapped his legs around England’s waist, using his strong thigh muscles to force England in deeper with every thrust. “It makes the words look pretentious and _awful_.” His hands slid down from the headboard to thread through England’s hair. “Oh _fuck_ ,” he murmured, pulling England closer to his chest, arching to find a better angle.

“They look elegant and _sophisticated._ ” England slammed into America with unbridled enthusiasm, wild and eager. “As if you would know anything about that.”

America managed to still England’s movements with his strength. His breath was tumbling out in ragged bursts as he kept England motionless. England’s body was trembling with the need to move, but America wouldn’t release him. With a sudden intake of air, America managed to push himself up, and rolled England onto his back. He straddled England’s waist like a cowboy getting ready to ride.

“I’m sophisticated,” he said back ferociously, licking his hand and reaching behind to coat England’s cock with more saliva, stroking gently to draw that passion from his lips. “I’m so fucking sophisticated, I bleed champagne.” His body was aching to be filled again, so he lifted his ass up and stroked England’s erection back and forth across his opening, until finally sliding down onto it. He filled himself to the hilt and his eyes rolled back.

“Yes, you are a paragon of sophistication,” England replied quietly, entranced by the look of pure bliss on America’s face. “The Star Wars pajamas in your suitcase are proof enough of that.”

America slowly raised his hips, and slammed himself down on England’s cock. Both men groaned at the same time.

“You calling me a nerd?” America built a rhythm of rolling his hips, hands gripping England’s waist to steady himself. 

For a while, it was all England could do to hold onto the bed. Using his remaining strength, he thrust his hips upward, meeting America’s energy and sliding in even deeper. 

“I’m calling you a s-slovenly, overbearing fool who has no sense of decency and no respect for his elders,” he hissed out, trailing a hand inward along America’s thigh, careful to avoid the bruise.

“O-oh yeah?” America’s breath hitched when England grabbed his cock and started stroking, but he didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t stop. “Well you’re cold…” Another gasp. “…and stuffy…” He threw his head back, grinding forward into England’s hand, and rolling backward onto his cock. “…and you drive on the wrong – ah-“ The heat was building. “w-wrong side-“ The pleasure pooled and burst forth. “OF THE ROAD!” He cried out, limbs shaking.

His release slid down England’s chest and fingers as he continued to rock back and forth. It wasn’t long before England took a deep, shuddering breath and came hard inside him. A few more thrusts and America rested against his heels before falling over heavily onto the bed. 

When he could move again, England crawled to America and laid down beside him. “ _You_ drive on the wrong side,” he whispered, and kissed America’s neck.

America took his hand and squeezed it gently as they looked up toward the ceiling. “Nuh-uh,” he said, attempting to breathe steadily. “The majority of nations drive on the right.”

England drew in a deep breath and sighed it out. “How do you know that?”

Instinctively, America turned to look at him. “I read it.”

“In a book?” England quirked an eyebrow.

“In a magazine,” America replied. 

England smirked at him. 

“What’s wrong with magazines?” America’s tone was defensive. England’s smirk wouldn’t budge. “They have credible information!” he insisted. 

“Do they, now?” England chuckled. “We are talking about yours, aren’t we?”

“Hey. Just…shut up.” He leaned over and stopped England’s smile with a kiss. 

Fingers entwined, they cuddled together in silence for several minutes. After a while, the silence turned from peaceful to unnerving. It felt like something important had happened that neither of them could quite comprehend. The concealed tube beneath the bed continued to emit the substance that had so blurred the line of their relationship.

Slowly, England pushed himself towards the edge of the bed, and America followed him.   
“Your insistence on arguing is going to make us late,” he said, going into the bathroom, still unable to acknowledge their tryst. 

“You started it,” America replied, and flipped the light switch. He grabbed a couple of hand towels, soaked them in warm water, and used one to wipe the come off of England’s chest. 

“I did not,” England snapped. When his chest and hands were clean, he took the other towel and crouched down behind America, nudging his legs apart. America spread his legs and held on to the counter. 

“D-did so,” he said back, biting his lip as England wiped off the come that had seeped out of him and down his inner thigh. When he looked into the mirror and saw himself, stark naked and squirming, he felt a moment of pointed confusion, like something was deeply wrong with the situation. It passed when England stood up and turned him around. 

“I’m not going to argue about who started the argument,” England insisted. He finished cleaning himself while America quickly took a comb to his hair. 

They walked back towards the bed and started gathering their clothing, throwing ties and shirts back and forth as they found them. 

“Cause you know I’m right,” America said smugly. He used the opportunity to clear up his glasses with the corner of his shirt.

They dressed with escalating speed, aware that time was running out quickly. 

“You’re always right in your head, aren’t you,” England observed. He was wearing pants, socks, and one arm of his shirt. 

America pulled his belt through the remaining loops. “I am always right. When it matters.”

“Ah.” England did the last few buttons on his jacket and picked up his briefcase. “So when you’re wrong, you just convince yourself it doesn’t matter. I must say, the mind of an egomaniac is _fascinating_.” He stood and held the door open. “Don’t forget the document.”

America sneered and lifted the briefcase in his hand, to show that he had everything ready to go. “Glad I entertain you so much, mister Judgmental Asshole.” He turned out the lights and hurried through the door.

Side by side, they left the room bickering, with absolutely no understanding of what had physically transpired between them. They kept their voices low as they passed the other rooms, until they got into the elevator car. 

When the elevator arrived at the lobby, America emerged without pause, followed by England. Their shoes pattered on the marble floor.

“If you hate all my movies so much, why do you keeping watching-”   
America stopped abruptly near the entrance and held a hand up to his head. It felt as though a veil was being lifted gradually.

England performed the same motion, rubbing his forehead like he was trying to remember a dream. He grimaced as he tried to break through the cloudy fog that hung over his mind. Everything seemed frozen in time for one confusing moment.

And suddenly, it all became perfectly clear. The answer to why they both felt so uneasy and exhausted and sated. 

Every glorious, sweaty detail became illuminated in their memory. 

America’s eyes widened as his line of sight gravitated helplessly towards England’s crotch. He staggered back and opened his mouth as if to speak, but simply started to turn a deep shade of red. It was a feeling far beyond embarrassment or shame. He had just had been thoroughly fucked by someone without realizing it was happening, and that someone happened to be England.

On the other side, with the same harrowed look in his eyes, England was already blushing from his roots to his neck, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. His eyelid started twitching compulsively, and his legs felt like they were going to give way at any moment. He made a noise that sounded like a poor imitation of human language. 

They stared at each other for a moment that held an eternity, while other hotel guests shot them puzzled glances and walked past.

England was the first to take a step, lurching forward as if his shoes contained heavy weights. He took another step, and then another, and was soon rushing stiffly for the door, without a single glance back. Every visible inch of skin was still heated and flushed. America watched through the glass, frozen to the spot, as he got into a waiting taxi and drove off.

America could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears and stared off into the distance.   
He had two choices. He could either go to the meeting, hand over the paper and pray that he wouldn’t be forced to acknowledge England’s existence in any way, or he could find the nearest closet and hide in it forever.

Somehow, against everything his mind was screaming at him, he chose the former - even knowing that he could never look his ally in the face again, and that he would have to sit there for hours knowing that England’s come was still inside him. Some part of him wanted to get it over with.

He just had to wait for his feet to unglue themselves from the ground.

\---

In the back of an unmarked van parked inconspicuously across the street, three figures huddled around a glowing monitor. A set of speakers crackled softly.

 _“Glad I entertain you so much, mister Judgmental Asshole,”_ said the man on the screen, just before the lights went out.

After a long stretch of silence, Hungary turned to her companions. France was grinning like a maniac, and Japan was shielding his face, leaving just enough space to peek between his fingers. 

The plan had not gone exactly as they had anticipated. 

“So…that was weird,” she said, interrupting the quiet.

France grunted indifferently, still smirking at the screen.   
Japan didn’t say anything.

“At least it worked. Kind of.”

France grunted appreciatively, still smirking at the screen.   
Japan didn’t say anything.

She leaned forward and turned off the central recording device. A grin began to grow as she watching the red light blink and fade out.  
Oh, the wonders of technology.


End file.
